


Reciprocation

by Casstea



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, James is his guardian angel, M/M, Q is a hunter, Wingfic, spn!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casstea/pseuds/Casstea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q wasn’t sure what the punishment was for hitting on an angel, but the worst that could happen was that he was sent back to hell again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reciprocation

**Author's Note:**

> For Rum, who drew [this beautiful picture](http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/47026330863) for me a couple of months ago, and I've finally written a fic about it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond, this is written for fun and not for profit.
> 
> A/N: It started out as a normal SPN au and then became wing!fic.

The water ran red in the sink as Q washed the remaining blood of his arm. There was a small line of stiches across the top of his arm, the thread barely visible against his skin. It didn’t help that the light was poor in the bathroom, the single lightbulb spitting the last of its power out from its grimy surface. The mirror was layered with a film of filth, making it almost impossible for Q to see his own face in the mirror. It almost defeated the purpose of its existence really, but then Q supposed it was only really present to mark of the _bathroom_ from the _bedroom._ He was paying the lowest rates this time, he wanted to save as much money as he could from this job and he couldn’t spent it on luxuries.

Well he could engineer another fraud scheme to get some money, but the authorities were still reeling from his last fraud scheme. It wouldn’t seem fair really to submerge them under another pile of paperwork as he ran rings around them with his computer.

Maybe he would send them a giftbasket, just to say sorry.

Q winced as he moved his shoulder. It was his own fault really, he shouldn’t have let the vampire get so close before swiping its head from its body. At least the vampire had made it a clean cut with the knife, instead of a serrated blade. He still had an ugly scar across his back from the incident with the banshee who had attacked him with a breadknife.

Q sighed, picking up his drink and downing the contents in one. The familiar burn of the alcohol was a welcome distraction to the pain throbbing through his left side from the wound. It felt like _hell,_ and Q felt he was in as good a position to judge as any, considering he had actually _been_ there.

He slowly took the few steps to get back into the bedroom, wary of jolting his shoulder too much. Salt lined every surface, an unbroken line against any hell hounds or demons which could be on the hunt for him. It wasn’t that there _were_ any demons or hell hounds hunting him at that time that he knew of, but Q knew what was out there in the dark. It was why he had an angel signal drawn on the wall and the demons trap drawn on the ceiling. It wouldn’t be like the proprietor would notice anyway, one of the reasons Q had picked this run down hovel was that they didn’t care about what you drew on the walls.

His sword lay on the bed, the metal barely shining in the dim light. Next to it lay his gun, and then the gadgets of his own creation - the holy water pellets which would explode at a certain pressure, the watch with the iron face which could dispel ghosts along with other belts of salt pellets for his shotgun and various array of knives. It wasn’t a large arsenal, or as large as some of the other hunter’s Q knew, but he liked to be able to move fast when he was hunting at that meant being able to carry all of his weapons on the move.

He picked up the sword, the weight of the weapon feeling natural in his hand. It had been bequeathed to him by an old vicar, who for reasons unbeknown to Q had kept it hidden in his church from a visiting knight years before with instructions to pass it onto a ‘ _man who can dispel the ghosts of the shadows’._

Apparently, by removing a rather vicious poltergeist from the church Q had fulfilled the old knight’s wishes and he was bequeathed with a sword.

Q pressed the small depression in the handle of the sword. The whole weapon quivered, before pulling itself backwards into the handle like a collapsible telescope, until only the hilt remained. It was a certain type of old middle-aged magic that allowed the sword to shrink down into the hilt, although Q hadn’t really followed the rest of the explanation from the spirit he had drawn from the afterlife.  It seemed that even in the middle-ages there were those who sold themselves to the cause of fighting the monsters in the dark.

With a practised efficiency, Q picked up his weapons and strapped them to his person. The couple next door were being loud _again,_ their voices and actions vibrating through the thin walls with ease. Q cast a disgusted look in the direction of the sound, it was the sound of their fights which had forced him to go with barely any sleep for the past two weeks.

 _But at least I’m going home now,_ Q thought, as he slipped the collapsed sword into his belt. It would be good to see the old place again, after a good few months on the road. The last thing Q picked up was the pile of cash that lay under the loose floorboard and the keys to his bike which he had hidden under the broken lamp in the corner of the room. He did the final checks he always did, swiping off the salt from the surfaces, although he left the demons trap and signl behind. If something was following him, Q wanted to let them know he was prepared.

In under ten minutes, the room was empty. It was as if no one had ever been there.

x-x-x

Gravel stones were thrown out of the way as the bike roared down the road.

Q revved the engine on the bike as he skidded around the corner, easily keeping his balance on the bike after years of practise. Trees blurred past him, merging into two walls of green that framed the edges of the road.

The shape of the house soon came into view, its imposing shape looming over the driveway. Q could just about make out the boarded up windows and charred outline from this distance. The black timbers which stuck haphazardly out from the top of the roof seemed to be glowing in the morning sunlight.

_Not that I need reminding._

Q shook his head to prevent the memories of that evening from resurfacing. The house had been in his family for over ten generations, all of whom had been hunters just like Q. Maybe it was because of that their house had been targeted by demons. Q liked to think it was because his family had killed so many of the bastards over the years that it had aggravated them to attack back. At least then he knew that what he did made an impact. He still had to find the demon which had been responsible for the fire, but in the meantime Q was happy taking jobs which allowed him to kill as many of the monsters as he could.

Hopping of his bike with a practised ease, Q switched off the engine and pushed the bike the remaining few feet towards the house. The timbers around the doorway looked like they had fallen randomly into their precarious position, but nothing about Q’s route was precarious. The wood made an old warding signal against wargs and other forest-dwelling creatures.

Q ducked below the beams, entering the shell of the house. Burnt rubble lay strewn about, just as they had fallen during the fire. The plants had begun to slowly reclaim the land, their green vines slithering through the empty window frames as they explored the charred remains.

“Q,” he said clearly, hoping that the door mechanism hadn’t seized up in his long absence. A number of blue lights shot out from the opposite wall, scanning Q and his bike from head to toe before disappearing just as suddenly as they had appeared.

The burnt floorboards in front of Q begun to shut sideways like a blind being drawn back, revealing a ramp which led downwards into a dark abyss. Q smiled, glad that his technology still worked, as he pushed the bike in front of him down the ramp and into what he called his home.

As the floorboards slid back into place above Q’s head, the lights flickered on, illuminating his living space. It was sparsely decorated, more functional than anything else. It had originally been the panic room his mother had created, but after the fire Q had turned it into a functional living space. There were three rooms in total, one large living area which had an open plan kitchen, workspace and lounge area, one bedroom, and one small bathroom.

Q parked his bike at the bottom of the ramp, placing his helmet on top of the seat and began to unbuckle his weapons, laying them neatly on the small counter Q had made out of ply-board.

Wings fluttered behind him.

In one swift movement, he spun around whilst pulling out his sword, the blade _hissing_ out of the sheath to lie against the neck of the creature which had just appeared behind him.

“Leave,” Q said darkly. It couldn’t be a demon, he had far too many traps set against them, or any of the other creatures he had made sure the room was protected against. There was only one creature he hadn’t placed a warning against, the one creature he had been trying to avoid for the past six months.

“That’s not very pleasant,” the angel remarked, not even looking at the sword at his throat, “after all I did save you from hell.”

“And I would have much rather stayed there,” Q snarled, “get out. I’m asking nicely.”

“Make me,” the angel remarked with a smirk.

“I see we’ve encountered what emotions are,” Q said, pretending to be impressed, “I must say well done on that.”

“I have been practising,” the angel remarked simply, pushing the blade away from his throat in one swift movement, “now if you would be so polite, I believe holding a sword against someone’s throat is not proper etiquette.”

“It is if the person in question is insufferable,” Q muttered, pressing the ruby on the sword’s hilt and making it collapse again, “have you come to convert me to religion again?”

“I never tried-”

“Joke,” Q waved his hand absently. The angel shuffled nervously, making Q smile.

 _Good,_ he thought, _put you on the back foot._

“What do you want with me?” Q pressed, crossing the room and pulling out the whiskey from the cupboard along with two glasses. The angel couldn’t get drunk, he had tried that the first time he had met the bastard.

“My name is James,” the angel said with a smile.

_Damn, I forgot about the mind reading._

“James,” Q smiled, placing the two glasses on the home-made coffee table, “have a drink.”

James looked questioningly at Q.

“It’s polite,” Q said, pouring a generous glass for them both, “after all you are the one to drop in uninvited.”

“You have been avoiding me for the past few months,” James said, taking the glass and downing the contents in one without any fuss.

“I needed time to think,”

“I gave you time to-”

“Look,” Q said, “I know, thanks for saving me from hell, it wasn’t particularly pleasant being burnt alive and then being dragged into the pits by Hellhounds. However, you already know my answer.”

“I haven’t-”

“You want me to go that religious quest,” Q waved his hand absently as he took a swig of the whiskey. The alcohol burned his throat, the sensation making him feel more alive in the dreary and drab surroundings.

“It’s not actually a quest,”

“You want me to become God’s holy hand and go kill demons,”

“My Father wishes for you to kill just the one demon actually,” James corrected, giving Q the full force of his gaze. Q fought the temptation to squirm in his seat under the oppressive gaze, instead he downed the rest of his drink in one go.

“Do you think if I actually _could_ find the demon,” Q said, growing more frustrated by the second, “that I would have sent it back to the pit?”

“You have not been on task-”

“I don’t have a task,” Q snapped.

James’ face darkened.

 _Ah yes,_ Q thought, _angel of the lord. Dangerous._

_Asshole._

“I heard that,” James glowered, “it would do you some good to give me some respect,”

“You can’t just ask for respect,” Q said, getting up from his seat, “you have to earn it. Now sod off.”

“I will come back, Q,” James said, standing up. Even though they were roughly the same height, James seemed to tower over Q by the mere force of his presence.

Then he disappeared.

x-x-x

That night Q had nightmares.

_Fire burnt his skin off his bones, as he screamed and screamed for someone to save him. Claws and teeth of the hell hounds sliced his back into a thousand pieces, dragging him away from his body and down into the pits._

_Pain._

Q screamed, sitting bolt upright in his bed. He was drenched in sweat, heart beating wildly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him. Scrabbling for the light next to him, Q turned the light. It was only a naked bulb, which flickered every few seconds, but it allowed Q to confirm there were no Hellhounds or monsters standing at the end of his bed.

 _Breathe,_ Q thought. It was all James’ fault for bringing back the memories of the fire. He had been as dead as the rest of his family, burning alive in his room, when the Hellhounds had come to take his soul to hell. Lucifer had later told Q, when he had been strung on the rack of nails, that his soul was far too important to allow it to go to hell. So hell had claimed it first, dragging it away before any angels could get their ‘hands on it’, like Q was some tradable commodity.

Q’s hand absently went to his shoulder, where the scar of the handprint was still there. It was the only scar he had left, his body having being completely healed when he had been brought back into the world. Waking up in the cold crypt, surrounded by the dead bodies of the rest of his family, had not been a pleasant experience.

Q got out of bed, pulling his jacket from the floor and throwing it over his clothes. He rarely changed to go to sleep, preferring to stay dressed in case of an emergency. Anyway, it wasn’t that he slept more than a few hours every night, so it didn’t really matter.

 _I would have thought that time would have helped,_ Q mused, clapping his hands to turn on the main lights in the living space. These lights were far more sophisticated, mostly because his mother had a chance to fit them before the fire. Q was still working on extending the circuit to the bedroom area, but he simply hadn’t had time.

_Haven’t allowed myself time more like it._

Q shuffled over towards the kitchen area, pulling out a teabag and throwing it in a mug. It had been six months after Q had been raised from the dead when James had first appeared in a dramatic fluffy of exploding lights and feathers. Q had been on a job in Yorkshire when it had happened, and almost lost the ghoul he had been searching for nearly two weeks.

When James had told him that he had been raised from hell for a special purpose, to hunt down the demon who had attacked his family, Q had done the only reasonable thing any hunter would do. That was, sprinting in the opposite direction and cover his trail as best he could. A bit of research on angel signls had kept the insufferable bastard at bay, but James had obviously not been deterred.

 _First time I get home in over six months and he shows up again,_ Q thought, as the kettle whistled that it was boiling, and he poured the boiling water over the tea bag. Q had to give the angel credit for tenacity, but he wouldn’t be pushed into doing something for the hell of it. The only reason he hadn’t tried to place angel warning singls around his home was because the gruff bastard had been the only living creature who hadn’t either taunted or pitied him over his families’ deaths.

True, that could just be down to the angel’s social ineptitude. However, Q was desperate for someone to talk to. Apparently, a messenger of the Lord satisfied his criteria just nicely.

 _I suppose he also hasa nice arse,_ Q thought sleepily as he sipped his tea on the sofa. He wasn’t sure what the punishment was for hitting on an angel, but the worst which could happen is that he was sent back to hell again.

_Pain._

Q shook his head, irritated that his thoughts had taken him back _there_ again. As much as he tried to boy himself up, Hell had changed him. He was much more skittish than he used to be, far more distrusting. It was as if he expected a sharp object to suddenly appear from any direction to piece his skin.

“James,” Q said to the empty air. He knew James would be listening, he was an angel after all, he had to hear all the prayers directed to him.

“Look, I’ve thought over on your offer,” Q said, feeling like a complete idiot, “and I’ll accept on one condition.”

“What?”

Q almost jumped out of his skin as James appeared beside him, peering down at him with an inquisitive stare.

“You do it with me.”

James frowned.

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“If you’re going to make me go on some holy hunt for a demon,” Q said, “you’re coming with me.”

“With you?”

“I always worked with my sister,” Q said, “we were a team, she and I. Now if I’m going to catch the bastard I’m going to need help.”

“Why the change of heart?”

 _I remembered where I went,_ Q thought to himself, looking up at James’ face, _get out of my head._

“I’m not in your head,” James said, “it’s not my fault if you fail to control your thoughts.”

“Well, be polite,” Q said, “because the only way I’m working with you is if you play nice.”

“Play nice?”

“Just shut up and sit down,” Q said, putting his tea on the side. For some reason, with James here, all vestiges of his nightmares disappeared completely, “I need to sleep. We start tomorrow morning.”

x-x-x

Working with James was insufferable.

“Look,” Q said, as they got back in the car. It had been his sister’s but considering she was now wandering about upstairs, Q had presumed it was his. He had sent James up to check with her anyway. James had returned with a reddened jaw and a note which had said _Q you are an arsehole and if you break my baby I will send you back to hell._

Q wasn’t quite sure just _how_ his sister would be able to come down from heaven and send him back to hell, but he was under no doubt she would find away if he broke her car. Eve had been a feared hunter just from the fact she was so _damn determined_ to find the creature she was looking for, she generally did.

“What did I do wrong?” James asked. Q would find his frown beautiful, but at that moment he was immensely pissed off with the angelic bastard.

“You can’t just go and _announce_ that you’re a messenger from God and that you’re looking for a demon.”

“It’s true though-”

“Yes and the person we were interviewing was an atheist.”

“So they should be shown the truth-”

Q held up his hands to stop James in his tracks.

“Just don’t announce you’re a messenger of God again okay? Or at least warn me first.”

“So what am I supposed to say?” James studied Q, as if the answers to the complexities of human interaction were written across his forehead. Q rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Q said, starting the car, “an agent of MI6 perhaps?”

x-x-x

Their relationship was a thing which couldn’t really be quantified. James would sometimes disappear for weeks on end, saying that he had important business to attend to, but Q didn’t believe him. It was as if the angel was getting cabin fever by being in one place for an extended period of time.

In those times, Q felt James’ absence keenly. It was stupid, he really shouldn’t care about what James thought, but after nearly a year of being by himself, the companionship was something he quite enjoyed. He could imagine his sister looking down from heaven and shouting at him _get him in your bed you idiot,_ but Q was sure there was some commandment against that. No, all observations about how nice James looked without his jacket on, or how nice his voice was, or how bloody _blue_ his eyes were, would stay locked in the recesses of his mind and stay there.

There were times when Q liked to flirt with James, just to irritated him. However, the angel seemed immune to Q’s advances, and would always give Q a questioning look as if to get him to explain why he was complementing James’ arse.

A flutter of wings behind him caught Q’s attention. However, instead of the normal smug look James gave him when he appeared in mid-air, it was an expression of pain.

“What,” Q said, dashing to James’ side and stopping him from falling over. James leaned heavily on him, as Q practically dragged him towards the sofa and gently lowering him down.

“Our friend,” James hissed, holding his side. Q could see blood coming out from it, soaking his shirt and jacket.

“You went after her-”

“She found me,” James grimaced in pain, “although she’s not going to be a problem anymore.

“She’s dead?”

James nodded. Q looked from James to the wall covered in clippings, and back at James again. Just like that, their problem had been solved by the demon showing her face first.

“You’ll need to take this off,” Q said, “I’ll clean the wound and stitch it back up again. Hopefully your angel mojo will help it heal.”

James nodded, as Q begun to peel off James’ jacket and shirt to reveal a dark red gash that ran down his side. It would have killed any normal human, but apparently for an angel this was just a major irritation instead of a death sentence.

For an angel, James was surprisingly cooperative as Q stitched up his side with practised hand. Q tried not to be distracted by James’ gaze which followed his every movement.

“Right,” Q said, finishing up the last stitch, “you’re good to go. Just don’t go trying to run after demons without me okay?”

“She found me,” James said.

“And your little exceptions _weren’t_ about trying to hunt down the demon yourself?” Q asked, a cheeky grin appearing on his face, “see you _do_ care about me.”

“My duty is to ensure that your task was fulfilled,” James said, taking a lot of interest in the stitches which were now running up his side.

“Indeed,” Q mused, “I’m going to get a drink, you want one?”

Surprisingly James agreed.

Q smiled as he poured two glasses of whiskey. For the first time since he had been resurrected, he felt _happy._

And it was all James’ fault.

x-x-x

It was a week later when Q walked out of his bedroom to have the shock of his life.

“You have _wings,”_ Q said, staring at the two large wings which stretched out of James’ back.  Ignoring the fact that James was shirtless, which would have normally been the more distracting issue, the wings would have given him at least a twelve foot wingspan, tip to tip.

“Yes,” James stated in his very matter of fact tone.

“No,” Q said, still unable to form proper words, “you have _wings.”_

“Ah yes,” James said, as if he was discussing the weather, “I chose to drop the glamour on them to aid my healing process.”

“Good,” Q nodded, trying not to stare, “they look good.”

“Thank you.”

Q tried to keep his thoughts very much PG rated as he made his way over to the kitchenette to make a much needed cup of tea. James stood next to him, a puzzled expression on his face.

“You’re confused,” he said.

“No,” Q replied, trying to keep his voice even, “Just shocked.”

“You know that I’m an angel,” James said, his wings shuffling.

 _He has fucking_ wings, Q thought to himself, stirring his tea furiously. He was too tired, and he didn’t need the image of a very well built James with _wings_ swirling around in his mind.

“Why do you like my wings?” James questioned.

_Shit._

“Get out of my head,” Q grumbled, “privacy is needed.”

“I don’t understand-”

“Look,” Q said, his patience at James’ confusion thinning. If he was going to be frank with the angel, then let the bloody angel deal with the awkwardness.

He could almost hear Eve cheering him on up in heaven.

“I’m a guy,” Q said, “you’re a good looking dude, angel, whatever. It is natural and _perfectly_ acceptable for me to admire your looks.”

“Why didn’t you say before?” James asked, cocking his head to one side.

 _I am going back to hell for this,_ Q thought to himself.

“Because you’re a messenger of the Lord,” Q said, words tumbling out of his mouth as fast as his thoughts could form, “and I’m a human. Slightly incompatible.”

“You didn’t think I would reciprocate?”

“What?” Q almost dropped his tea in shock.

“That I would have feelings for you? Why do you think I have ensured the demon who killed your family was killed?”

“What-” Q started to say, before his words were stopped by James grabbing him roughly and pulling him into an intense kiss.

Q’s teacup smashed on the floor, forgotten, as Q kissed James back.

**Author's Note:**

> Want more? [Rain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/668667/chapters/1704449) is a ficlet set in this universe.


End file.
